PS 

Sw I L L O W 
'■"'' P O L L E N 



^ 



•f? 



BY 



JEANNETTE MARKS 



THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS : : BOSTON 



r|" 




Bnn k A i-'.Hy< 

GoByriglit N" 



CQEXRIGHT DEPOSm 



WILLOW POLLEN 



WILLOW POLLEN 



JEANNETTE MARKS 




Boston 

The Four Seas Company 

1921 



Copyright, Jp2i, by 
The Four Seas Company 









vol/ 18(9?/ 



The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



©CU630788 

ft\9 I 



TO 

The Memory of 

My Mother 

JEANNETTE HOLMES COLWELL MARKS 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Many of these poems were first published in 
Ainslee's, Bellman, Century, Churchman, Con- 
temporary Verse, Everybody's, Freeman, Forum, 
Holland's Magazine, McClure's, Metropolitan, Nation, 
New Republic, North American Review, Outlook, 
Poetry (Chicago), Poetry Journal, The Bookman, 
Smart Set and other magazines. 

Fleur de Lys 
September 27, 1920. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Proem ii 

Willow Pollen 13 

You 14 

Cross Roads 15 

Calendar 16 

Wild Grape Vine 19 

To Some Flowers 21 

Stars 22 

Green Golden Door 23 

Bread 24 

Obscurity 26 

Brown Mother 30 

Sea Gulls 32 

The Wanderer 34 

Blind Sleep 35 

The Bowl 36 

White Hair 39 

Clear Pools 40 

These Two 41 

The Railroad Station 43 

Bubbles 44 

Peddled Joy 45 

Work 46 

Somewhere Tonight 47 

Your Sunlit Way 48 

Strange Faces 49 

Everywhere 50 

Cloud 51 

Bucentaur 52 

[7] 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Moth 53 

Gray Waters 54 

Journey's End 55 

White Paths 56 

Ebony 57 

To Some Philadelphia Sparrows .... 58 

Oriole's Nest 59 

Little Miss Hilly 60 

Rose Toada 61 

Thatch 62 

Ravello 64 

Chester-on-the Dee 65 

The River Seiont .66 

Gold and Ivory 67 

Steps 68 

Beside the Way .69 

Wait Awhile 70 

Indian Summer 71 

A Thousand Years 72 

The Broken Door 73 

Only Your Name 74 

Repetends 75 

Too Late 76 

The Tide yy 

Dust and Dreams 'j'^ 

The Nest 79 

Lost Love 80 

"When Spring" . . . . ; 81 

Two Candles 82 

Rosy Miller 84 

His Name 85 

Mist 86 

Last Dawn 87 

Even as Here 88 

Again? oo 

[8] 



WILLOW POLLEN 



PROEM 

Beautiful she was to look upon 

And beautiful to know, 

And all who knew her loved her. 

There was none to whom she was not tender, 

Compassionate in her word or her silence ; 

There was none of whom she did not think well. 

In a quiet room, my head upon her breast, 

Often have I heard her heart beat, 

Often have I listened to the voice of her heart. 

And its speech was the speech of many sorrows. 

But of her ouni sorrows she spoke not; 

She spoke only of the grief that came to her for 

healing; 
And her speech was silence, 
Murmur of wind, 
Mute spaces of sky, — 
These were her caresses and her healing, 
And with silence and wind and sky she is now one, — 
Not separate. 

She is gone. 

Remember her if you will! 

For me she is still everywhere 

And never to be forgotten! 

Out of the dawn 

The fringed lashes of blue gentians widen to her eyes; 

Through the hot day 

The shadow of her presence revolves upon me 

[II] 



As the cool finger on the sun dial; 

In the afternoon 

Shaken light burns in the memory of her hair; 

And at evening 

All my thoughts go fluttering, gray-winged, after her, 

Till she gathers them in to the nest of her silence 

And I am come hack to my Mother 

And to sleep. 



[12] 
t 



WILLOW POLLEN 

Fleur de Lys on Lake Champlain, June j, 1^20 

The rain upon my roof Is the rain of apple blossoms, 
At my feet the water willows stand knee-deep in 

rushes ; 
A swaying mirror for the sun the lake swings and tips, 
Spilling broken drowsy shadows and silver leaves. 
In the willow pollen the bees hum; 
In the apple bloom the bees hum; 
Fluttering up like a begging hand 
The ash tree twirls its mystic seven-fold leaf, 
The thrush its song. 

O beautiful world, what are you? 

And who made you.'* 

Are you no more than a fragrant dream, 

A jewelled crust of loam for sun to shine upon, 

A swaying mirror. 

Willow pollen, 

A twirling song, 

A crumbling leaf? 



[13] 



YOU 



You are the sunshine, 
I am the sod: 
Flame to my leaf-mould, 
And goldenrod. 

II 

You are the shadow, 
I am the rock: 
Coolness of sheep bells. 
Stilling the flock. 

Ill 

You are the starlight, 
I am the stream: 
Trees dripping lustre 
Into our dream. 



[14] 



CROSS ROADS 

I wonder if the wildrose knows I love you, — 
All the festivals of spring your name has lain 
Now a petal on my bosom, now a leaf against my lip 
In the rain? 

I wonder if the wood thrush knows I love you, — 
Every step a song, every song a flight home to you 
While the path runs on through twilight and the night 
wheels back to day 
And I pray? 

I wonder if the heavens know I love you, — 
Dusky night-time cupped with stars, lily day immacu- 
late 
Leading on unto the cross roads where you and I 
Say goodbye? 



[15] 



CALENDAR 

Of a Little Garden on Lake Champlain 

Sometimes the sun, like a big bee 

Choosing the flowers he will bring to bloom, 

Dreams over my garden. 

So still the dust shines on his burning wings. 

And sometimes he swings away towards the evening 

star 
To fill his basket claws with night. 
Come morning he sprinkles darkness with his gold, 
Rubs legs together — I saw him do it — 
And there's a purple larkspur tapering into rose 
And blood-red columbine,: — 
It's July then. 

Or the big bee finds a flaming dawn. 
Scours it with pollen from his back 
And there's a poppy's glossy wrinkled cup, — 
Then it's June. 

At times he scoops the white crest off a wave 
Into the basket of his claws — 
I've seen the big bee skip upon the lake for joy — 
Then zi-ig! He's back again 

Spreading some lilies by the sandy path, . 

White with gold dashed on their lips 
Where he clings — the big bee — sucking. 
I know he's there because the bells ring so : 
Seven lilies, then five, then four, 
I count them on their stems, 
[i6] 



An octave's length of melody, 

A little running song of happiness, — 

It's August then. 

But now he's quiet. 

Some waste of gold in autumn leaves and fields, 

And gold upon the lake — pale leaf of drifting waters 

Cut by the wild duck's close, sharp flight — frets him. 

For he must store in steep sky granaries much ban- 
nered gold 

With which to hang a hundred winter dawns and 
dusks. 

Still, he spares a little for my garden's need, 

Spreading it in marigolds and frost, — 

It is September then, — October, too. 

The bee, the big bee, the burning bee 

Begins and ends in gold. 

In spring, knocking the snow from rosy apple bloom. 

He cHmbs the sky with fagots on his back 

To scatter them in yellow willow twigs and daffodils; 

And when he leaves my garden for his sleep. 

Flings daffodils along an evening sky, — 

It's May then, and April, too. 

Some say there are no sky daffodils and no big bee. 

Pooh ! I say the sun is a bee, a big bee, a burning bee, 

And bears the whole world's wealth upon his back. 

What if he is a ruby humming bird betimes 

Or a saffron butterfly 

Or a gray-hooded moth at dusk ! 

[i/i 



I've seen him when he was an emerald dragon fly 

About my little garden's pool, 

But not for long. 

He has his mysteries. 

His winter's cell of silver white has neither rose nor 

red nor gold. 
Who would not like the change ? . . . 
I say the sun is a bee, a big bee, a burning bee, 
I know! 



i8] 



WILD GRAPE VINE 

I will be like a wild grape vine, 

I will climb the sun j^athering color; 

Until every leaf of my being is fluted with rose, 

Cupped in brown-gold, 

Dusted with silver. 

I will cling with my dry stem 

Until my stem is strong as brown cedar. 

Then will I swing from tree to tree, 

Twisting, turning, blowing. 

Binding all trees with my tendrils, 

Embracing them, leaping with them, 

Woven in and out of them. 

One! 

And the wild bee shall love me. 

And the wild bee shall follow me 

With song! 

And I shall be mad fragrance at dusk 

And sweet odor at dawn. 

And then! — And then 

Among all beloved trees which can resist me! 

They will yield themselves to me 

And I shall swing over the whole world, — 

Every forest of earth, 

Every dim place, withdrawn, silent. 

Every wilderness, — 

Spanning the sky with a vast arch of rose. 

Beating upon the stars with my gold. 

Kissing the dawn with my silver, 

[19] 



Resting in my brown upon earth, 
My roots in her, my fruit her being! 

Wind, Wind, 

Then will the mad fragrance of my breath be your 

breath, — 
The wild bee clinging! 
Wind, Wind, 

Then will my hard dry stem know the flight of bird, — 
The wild bee following! 
Wind, Wind, 
Then will my love know the flutter of soft leaf upon 

me, — 
The wild bee singing! 



[20] 



TO SOME FLOWERS 

Growing Near a Wall of Portland Harbor 

What will you bring today? 
Nod once if it be grave, 
Nod thrice if it be gay! 

Primrose with eyes for night, 
- Sweet-peas with wings for flight, 
Poppies with cups for dew. 
Love in the midst of rue: 
Which nods to me? 

No, you turn your faces all one way 
Against the wall. 
Because a wind from off the sea 
Draws its chill fingers down your cups 
And bids your petals fall. 

You do not nod. 

You beckon neither once nor thrice 

To me, but to the earth 

There slips a cover manifold 

Of every hue. 

And from the wall beside the sea 
Curl mist and myriad broken wings. 

Such gift you give to me! 

[21] 



STARS 



When joys were vivid I did sit 
Within a golden field, 
And there I pulled the whitest stars 
Green earth can yield. 

II 

For Bethlehem those stars were named, 
The Lord Christ sat with me; 
And I was little and I leaned 
Upon His knee. 

Ill 

Now I am old and joys are gone, 
Christ in this room I find 
Who brings from distant Bethlehem 
Stars for His blind. 



[22: 



GREEN GOLDEN DOOR 

Green golden door, swing in, swing in ! 
Fanning the life a man must live, 
Echoes and airs and minstrelsies. 
Love and hope that he calleth his, 
Fear and hurt and a man's own sin 
Casting them forth and sucking them in, 

Green golden door, swing out, swing out ! 

Green golden door, swing in, swing in! 
Show me the youth that will not die, 
Tell me the dream that has not waked, 
Seek me the heart that never ached, 
Speak me the truth men will not doubt ! 

Green golden door, swing out, swing out ! 

Green golden door, swing in, swing out ! 
Long is the wailing of man's breath, 
Short is the wail of death. 



[23] 



BREAD 



Dear and Unknown, 

So you shower white porcelain with roses for me, 

Red roses, white roses, roses of rose, 

cupping their stems, 

Spreading them out in the bowl 

Till the green leaves net the white water with silver, 

Glisten with light, 

Stir with the stir of their pattern of leaves. 

With the breath of their draught of cool water. 

With the bloom of rose petals crisp in the peace of 

white water. 
Safe in the shadow of night, 
Tasting the gift of new life. 



II 

Once beauty was bread unto me. 

But now I am gone, rob none for my bread. 

God gave me a soul no rose, red or white, ever equalled. 

Did God give me love? 

What doubling of petals has ever brought grief? 

What leaf? 

In what garden is life crushed always to dreams? 

Oh, now, what are roses to me, 

Red roses, white roses and roses of rose? 

Does God give the roses a soul for their flight? 

What petals blow on this journey I go? 

[24] 



Ill 

Dear, my Unknown, 

Put no rose to my lips cold in this porcelain bowl of 

myself ! 
Roses, red roses, white roses, roses of rose, 
Once bread unto me ; 
Rain them on pulses that beat. 

Toss them to hands which are quick to their bloom; 
Give them, I beg you, to one who can see; 
Feed them, I pray you, — 

Roses, red roses, white roses, roses of rose, — 
To men who still hunger for bread! 



[25] 



OBSCURITY 



Someday I shall be a leaf 

A shining green leaf, fan-folded, 

One of many opening in a sunlit wind; 

Or I shall be a bit of bark. 

Say on the Poverty Birch — 

Since I am obscure and poor and short of life 

And my work of no account to commerce — , 

And I shall flutter there in the wind. 

My bit of sooty white rind speckled red and gold like 

trout skin 
And cross-hatched with lines of color; 
Or— but I do not know what I shall be 
And it does not matter. 
God has made so much that alters beautiful : 
The jigging shadows of trees 
Through which thoughts pass to that which does not 

change ; 
The wind that tramps eternity ; 
The very lava of this universe He turns to frost; 
Like frost He throws white fingers up out of loam 
And tosses into space the spinning stars. 

II 

I wonder whether ragged autumn leaves feel ill clad 
Remembering their soft dress in spring? 
Or whether autumn browns seem dreary to the leaves 
and grass.'' 

[26] 



I 



And growing older makes cedars shabby at the stem? 
I hear the hard, dry clatter of some dead oak leaves, — 
They sound so strong for any wind. 
But sometimes when I am tired my dress makes me 

ashamed 
And I am awkward and ill at ease — 
Clothes have a way of telling stories 
Even as the bark of trees will tell 
Which way the storm winds blow — 
I remember when I was young 
And scarcely knew that money paid for clothes, 
My garments were fresh and silken like poplar leaves 
And there were more than I needed ; 
And my hair was soft and thick. 

With gold always in it as in the larch in early spring; 
And my body was lithe and vigorous ; 
When I was tired it was the quick dip of the sapling 

in the storm. 
The least clearing wind set me free again 
And I stood straight with all my quivering aspen leaves 
Shaking the sunlight into dance. 



Ill 



Now I lie awake at night, many nights, 

Sometimes when I am ill, 

Sometimes when I am well, 

And think about money and rents in worn clothes 

And feel the hunger of old women and backyard cats 

As if it were my own hunger; 

[27] 



And the wind noses about for crumbs in a bit of news- 
paper 

And flaps tattered dirty shawls over me, 

And my thoughts are bent and old 

And I shiver in the dark trying to bless God. 

I wonder why God gives Himself to trees 

And lets old women starve? 

And backyard cats nose for crumbs in a piece of news- 
paper? 

And why certain rich people are as well varnished 
against cold 

As fat beech buds against the frost? 

Do you suppose God is a Merchant 

And sells this warm lustre from the stars — 

Stars hung like bright drops of water in a big night 
wind— 

And plans to make a profit from the rich ? . . . 

I am not an anarchist 

Except in stars. 

IV 

When the dawn comes it brings the crows. 
Caw! Caw! Caw! The crows! 
The crow sleeps east hut west he blows 
To pick some carrion that he knows 
Caw! Caw! Caw! It blows! 



I travel East to meet the sun 

With a gray heron battling up against the wind, 

[28] 



Above the nests that knew the ravens in their sleep, 

Above the trees that toss the light, 

Above the rocks that blossom into rose, 

On towards the sun! 

It does not matter now how I am clothed ; 

For my mind glitters with a thousand thoughts, 

Star-sown, moon-shaped, sun-colored, 

Amber-shining like polished foliage in a great dawn 

wind, 
And the lustre on the heron's breast 
Is now God and now the Morning Star: 
I travel East to meet the sun ! 



[29] 



BROWN MOTHER 

Brown Mother, Earth Mother, my love does it stir, 

is it living? 
Is this seed-time in darkness? It is bleak, and the 

rain 
Drums hard on this silence, makes heavy my pain. 
I am blind yet the wind does search me like eyes that 

are old. 
O, my Mother, sweet Mother, through the lengthening 

night it is cold! 

Brown Mother, Earth Mother, the swell of your 

bosom, the scent of your hair, 
They ar6 life, they are death, two in one to your child. 
Like the flame of your blossom, the sweep of your wild. 
Or the primal red mud of life's sowing. 

Earth Mother, brown Mother, dear Mother, will the 

long night be run? . . . 
Touch the root to its milk, do you say? Send the sap 

to the bud. 
Feel the five-fingered leaf on my bosom, the grass on 

my lip? 
Find my bed in the wild? Bear the rose and the lily 

for child? . . . 

O, my Mother, Earth Mother, reach me round with 

your loving. 
Fold me in to your heart, base me deep on your breast 

for this sleep ! 

[30] 



Then, Mother, sweet Mother, with the clay and the 
spring I shall wake, 

Turn my back to the East with its frost and its man- 
acled trees. 

Turn my face to the West and the blaze of my lover 
the Sun! 



[30 



SEA GULLS 

On Leaving Eggemoggin 

Sea gulls I saw lifting the dawn with rosy feet, 

Bearing the sunlight on their wings. 

Dripping the dusk from burnished plumes; 

And I thought 

It would be joy to be a sea gull 

At dusk, at dawn of day. 

And through long sunlit hours. 

Sea gulls I saw carrying the night upon their backs. 

Wide tail spread crescent for the moon and stars — 

The moon a glowing jelly fish, 

The stars foam flecks of light; 

And I thought 

It would be joy to be a sea gull ! 

How I would dart with them, 

Strike storm with coral spur. 

Rip whirling spray of angry tides. 

Snatch mangled, light-shot offal of the sea, — 

Torn, tossed and moving terribly; 

And stare for stare answer those myriad eyes 

That flofet and sway, stab, sting and die away! 

How I would peer from wide cold eyes of fire 

At dusk, at dawn 

And through the long daylight 

Into those coiling depths of sea; 

Then split the sun, the moon, the stars. 

With laughter, laughter, laughter, 

For the sea's mad power ! 

[32] 



DRAGON 

Some saw a dragon eating up the light, 

Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho! 
Some heard a lost bird riding out the night, 

Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho! 

But I saw: 

A low dark hill with its twisted back, 
Two wings of flame from the green cloud rack, 
A sprawling flank overlaid with leaf 
Glitter and gleam and shine like steel, 
Crackle and lash like a sei-pent's tail ! 

And I heard: 

The wind draw out of the west and wail, 
Dance and stagger and jig and reel 
With the long low bound of a life in grief! 

/ sazv a life in grief 

Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho! 
Dance and stagger and jig and reel! 

Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho! 



[33] 



THE WANDERER 

Hear the illimitable wind 
Rush from a desolate sea of space 
Into the valley's folded gloom, 
And smite the branches gibbeted 
On frosty trees, and lash the woods 
To moans of age-old agony ! 

Hark ! how it leaps upon the roofs 

Of cottages, to drop whimpering 

Like some old dog before the door of home ; 

Or pipes through chink and sill, a witless thing. 

It is the only houseless one, 

A pensioner of sea and cloud, 

An outcast in a universe 

Of night and day, of life and death. 

An alien, frenzied wanderer, — 

Homeless, illimitable wind! 



[34] 



BLIND SLEEP 

In dreams have come to stay 

Earth's golden bonnet of the day, 

Her gay attire, 

The dove wings gray she wore at dawn. 

The ivory of her cradled breast. 

Her dusk of plumed fire. 

And all her garments of delight. 

Heavily I grope 

Step after step, 

Afar, 

About this star-illumined sod. 

Silver with all the slumber of the world, 

Jewelled with every gem of light, 

Splintered with frosty air, — 

And know blind sleep. 



lis] 



THE BOWL 

God said, "For you this bowl is life! 

Draw near and look! 

Therein is the bright water of dawn, 

Night's silver covering of rain! 

Therein is dream lying like day, — 

Topaz with sun upon it ! 

Lithe out of this bowl 

Shall leap the larch in spring. 

For this is love, — 

Green flame of flight to the very tip!" 

I looked into the bowl, wondering : 

And night and dawn mingled 

And sleep stirred 

And the day turned in its dream, 

And flame, flickering, swept the bowl's lip. 

Then I took the bowl in my two hands, 

Thanking God. 

But now in my bowl dawn breaks no more, 

Over the bowl's lip I hear the iron shudder of dry 

leaves 
Beaten by frozen wind. 
There is no rain to soften sleep, 
No day like topaz in the sun, 
I see the larch crumble to ash,- — 
My arms grow numb back to the very heart 
Holding this bowl God gave to me ! 



[36I 



THE GREAT SILENCE 



Magnificent, my Own, 

Across the City's crash of sound. 

Above the marching of her war-shod feet, 

I hear you call, "I am alone, — alone!" 

In that full, tragic voice of yours repeat. 

Echo and tone, 

"Alone, — I am alone !" 



II 



Oh, Splendid One, 

The stars still hang the City's night 

With peace and light! 

What wars could ever bind 

The singing of God's universe in space? 

You turn your eyes. 

Burning, ancient, wise. 

And speak, "All have I seen, 

Evil and good. 

All man has been. 

All man has done, — 

And I am blind." 

But God, I cried . . . 

Then came your moan, 

Like Pontius Pilate overthrown, 

"God I have denied!" 

[37] 



Ill 



Magnificent, my Own, 

There beyond the City's sky 

Are pinnacle and dream, 

The rushing of a mighty'stream, 

The night-wind's cry 

And thunder-harp of pine. 

"Oh, Christ,'^ you weep, 

"They are not mine, 

They are not mine ! 

I cannot see, I cannot hear. 

Only I remember year on year 

Abel and Cain. 

Yet^^s^omewhere in this welter of my pain 

Memory of another,— 

J^^^f ^^« ^ost syllables of doom.'' 

What syllables are they, my Own.P" 

Ihat word is 'Brother'!" 



[38] 



WHITE HAIR 

All the warmth has gone out of white hair, 

It only answers to the wind 

And lifts and stirs like creeping snow 

Close to the frozen scalp of earth. 

It has no gold of autumn grasses 

Or red of beech buds 

Or warm brown of tree bark 

Or depths of quiet 

In which eyes burn like star-flame in a dark night. 

Has death white hair 

And the cramped empty shoulders of old age? 

Tf he has, I shall be as a child, frightened and trying 

to hide from him. 
Rut if his touch is the toucii of warm rain, 
H his breath is sweet like the gray-green fruit of the 

juniper, 
H his shoulder is deep and strong like the up-heaved 

root of hemlock 
And his hair velvet-dusk as a moth's wing, 
Then I shall go to him gladly, 
And sleep well . . . 



[39] 



CLEAR POOLS 

What is this bitterness of love that scatters dust in the 

eyes? 
What this absence that shrivels the heart and the 

blood? 
What these cries that stop the ears with their pain? 
Let us take our love unto God, 
He understands, He has fashioned us and is kind; 
How well He knows that love must carry its burden 
H it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes 

to the stars! 

What are we that we should not know that we are His, 
And of Him our passion and of Him our tears? 
His breast is deep and He will fold us there 
In the mystery of His dark, in the miracle of His 

closeness. 
Distance from us knows He not nor space, 
And our love which is His how can it be divided from 

itself? 
Are we not one even as we are His? 

What is that cry? 

Is it sorrow or is it the wind upon the waters? 
What is this light that flows like a brook ? 
How well He knows that love must carry its burden, 
If it would run to bathe in clear pools and lift its eyes 
to the stars! 



[40] 



THESE TWO 

Sometimes when I am alone at night 

I put my hand upon my heart ; 

But it matters little to me that these two are one 

From the deep inflow of the rushing blood 

Even to the extremity of each living finger 

Swung from hollowed palm and flexible wrist: — 

This heart and hand that are so wonderful, 

So joined in life; so fashioned 

In the beat of pulse 

And passionate discernment of touch for joy, 

So separate and yet not to be divided. 

It is not of them I am thinking 

When I place my hand on my heart 

In the lonely night. 

In its weight 

Again I feel your head lying on my breast 

And in its touch the oval of your childlike face. 

You are wide-eyed once more, 

With those gray eyes of the sea 

Full of space and the shadows of birds* wings 

And the terror of known depths of human tragedy; 

You are wide-eyed now 

Looking into the dark with me, 

Wondering about the night. 

I cannot believe that it is only my own hand upon my 

heart 
And that we are separated; 

[41] 



I cannot understand the use of my own fingers 
Or the beating of my own pulse ; 
And I take my hand away 
And lie alone in the dark 
And suffer. 



[42] 



THE RAILROAD STATION 

A station is a place of miracle : 

So many trains passing and repassing, 

So many thoughts coming and going, 

So many greetings and farewells ! 

Any surprise might happen there: 

God come and go, 

Street cries turn to stars, 

Dust of blown rubbish whirl to aureole! 

Thus, in such a place, 

Love met me once. 

That day the shining tracks seemed leaping toward 

eternity. 
And we heard the street cries sing like stars, 
And we saw God come and go 
And the dust upon our hair was gold! 
Now, blinded, I look past all I see: , 

It might happen, 
Love might be there again ! 
It's not that I think a railroad station heaven. 
Who does! 

Yet so many greetings and farewells, — 
Anything might happen ! 
Have you not felt that way, 
And, bewildered, watched; 
And, longing, waited? 



[43] 



BUBBLES 

How shall I link my thought to yours 

Through hours that whirl to dust! 

Fling me some word will keep me close to you, 

If but a rainbow bubble like our breath, 

And share with me its swift-revolving dream! 

See how the bubble shapes the silver moon, the golden 

sun! 
In purple sleep it spins among the stars, 
Or crimson film it holds the dawn, 
Only to break in shattered mist upon our lips, — 
One azure word turned kiss ! 



[44] 



PEDDLED JOY 

"May I not sell this gewgaw red?" 

"You must not sell ! 

You cannot buy !" 
"Not sell my own, my heart?" 
"You two are one : you may not part, — 
One peddled joy, you both are dead!" 

"Must I go hungry all the way?" 

"You must not beg! 

You must not cry !" 
"Not for two bits o'love today?" 
"Your empty scrip for pillow keep: 
It brings great gifts, — thirst, sorrow, sleep!' 



[45] 



WORK 

I told my heart that work must be 
The only aim of life for me. 
But oh ! my heart cried, "Love, love, love !' 
And wept bitterly. 



[46J 



SOMEWHERE TONIGHT 

On hearing the Evening Bells at IVestport-on-Lake 
Cham plain 



Somewhere I have heard bells 

Mellow as the moon : 

Somewhere they hung^ and swung, 

With slender sound they rose 

Tiptoe with hunger for the sky, 

Star-pointed with the light of dream ; 

Somewhere those eager bells whispered of love, — 

That was another day. 

And we were gay ! 

II 

And now this withered sound's farewell 

Swinging like tethered rhyme. 

Slow-moving, pendulous, 

A sigh upon the water's breast, 

A cloud within the sky ! 

Never again for us, Beloved, 

Yet somewhere the moon shines and is bright, — 

Somewhere tonight ! 



[47] 



YOUR SUNLIT WAY 



Should one thought cry against me in your heart, 
I could not rise from Death, saying, "Love, my place 
Is by your living side ; ghostly, I touch 
Your precious hands, I kiss your lovely face!" 

II 

I would not have you shrink to feel me near. 
Or claim despite your will what once was mine. 
Was ours in God-flung vow, passionate, dear 
By night, by day, companioned or apart. 

Ill 

Not mine t9 snare your liberty, to cage 
Your sunlit way. Yet, wish me gone, I leap 
From light, I plunge to find amen and shroud 
In Death, — this time for Love's eternal sleep. 



[48] 



STRANGE FACES 

There ! 

That is the face for me — 

That face I shall never see 

In this world again ! 

All that I miss is there, 

Touch of life and its kiss! 

O, mysterious love in our heart 

Found for us both as we pass, — 

As we part ! 



[49] 



EVERYWHERE 

You I love. 
You and you: 
One I never see 
And one I know. 

Well, and what then? 

Nothing. 

But, I ask. 

Does the wind blow? 

Do feet drift or go? 

And where ? 

How shall a tinker mend 

A pinch of dust? 

Some things are mine to keep, 

Some to share : 

My thoughts I bear 

Because I must; 

My love I spend 

Because I wish, 

On you I never see. 

On you I know, — 

Everywhere. 



[50] 



CLOUD 

A slate galleon hurrying across a sea of fire, — 

And they call that "cloud" ! 

And the sea it sails upon "sky" ! 

Tut, it is a ship as plain as anything 

Full-spread to find the silver edges of the world 

Where ships and island daffodils 

Burn, follow sun, dip, 

Cling to the shining brim like flapping butterflies. 

Let go. 

Then, whirling sail and streaming daffodil. 

Dart into night and flame to stars! 

And the "sky" . . . 

Now you tell what the sky is! 



[51] 



BUCENTAUR 

At Isle au Haut 

Dawn, bright dawn, 

White swan on the edge of the dark pool of night 

Fan the shade from its mirror, 

Cleave the stars on its deep! 

Joyous barge of my dream. 

On the wave, on the wind, O Bucentaur, 

With your cry sweep the seas. 

Shake the wind from the trees, 

Wake the world from its sleep, 

Meet and greet 

Song within song! 

Your eyes jewelled fire. 
Your touch my desire, 
Draw nearer, draw nearer 
Down the rose-colored stream; 
White swan, bright dawn, 
Kiss me, and lift me 
On the wing of your light! 



[52] 



MOTH 

At Isle au Haiit 

Gray as a moth the Hght of day 

Dawns in the east, 

Dimming the star that crowns the hill, 

Stilling the wind. 

Hushing the deep 

Of the water's sleep; 

Flits like a moth's pearl wing in the night 

To the peak of mast 

And the spire of tree, 

Touches the nest and its thrush to song. 

Flutters the edge of the sky along. 

Gray like a moth 

Dawn slips away. 

Bright in apocalypse of light. 

Rose and gold and green of the world, 

Wind and bird and the great sea's lay 

Possess the day ! 



DO. 



GRAY WATERS 

At Isle au Haut 

Take me to some isle upon the sea ! 
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship 
Out where gray waters slip 
About some isle upon the sea, — 
Upon the sea! 

Lay me within some caverned rock 
Whose bosom, hard from all the years, 
Knows nothing of men's tears, — 
Gray peaceful rest beside the sea. 
Beside the sea! 

Take me to some isle upon the sea! 
Bear me on wing of bird or keel of ship 
Out where gray waters slip 
About some isle upon the sea ! 
Upon the sea! 



[54] 



JOURNEY'S END 

I shall not hear the thrushes sing, 
Though sing they will that day ; 

For me will be an unknown soci 
And an undreamed-of May! 



[55] 



WHITE PATHS 

Here are white paths that gleam 
In the twihght space of dream; 
Here the winds turn in their sleep 
With the rocking of the deep; 
Here the golden song of thrush 
Is music's sunlight, evening's hush; 
Here the rustle of our prayer 
Climbs the forest altar stair; 
And here the stars burn in the sod- 
Peaceful candlelight for God. 



[56] 



EBONY 

On watching a beautiful black arm opening a Venetian 
Lantern at Flcur de Lys 

Ebony, Ebony, 
Dreaming of a rose. 
Flame in the flower-heart, 
Dusk in repose; 

Jeweled eyes glistening, 

Dew on the leaf. 

Sweet to Africa 

Is the thought of her grief. 



[57] 



TO SOME PHILADELPHIA SPARROWS 

Men say unfriendly words of you, poor birds! 
And I? I praise you for your saucy joy 
On dusty streets; I love you for your twitter 
In vines that cling to heated city walls; 
Your noisy congregations on the trees; 
Unchurchly ways of saying this and that 
About your brother men; your gaieties 
In parks nearby a fountain's dripping brim. 

Men say your manners are not fine. And, too. 
They call you scavengers, they call you thief 
And enemy to other prettier birds. 
Perhaps we are one feather, you and I ! 
I would not hold it any grief to be 
Your brother bird upon the city street. 

I love you, chatterers! Yet I have heard 
The lark in other lands, the thrush in this. 
Dull many a day had been without your din. 
Your wrangles under foot, your shameless ways. 

Men say unfriendly words of you. Of me 
They speak unkindly, too. Yet see how gay 
We are! Ah, well, we are one feather, you 
And I ! We have the city streets for plunder, 
The eaves for wonder, and above there is 
The sky ! 



[S8] 



ORIOLE'S NEST 

AT FLEUR DE LYS 

Night in an oriole's hanging nest 
Is rocking a basket world to sleep. 
The wind blows soft 
And the wind blows far, 
Star, creep, star! 

Pack me tight in my basket world, 

Tread me and turn me with feet of your love! 

O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest! 

O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast ! 

Down in the marshes the little fish gleam, 

Down in the marshes the little fish stir 

Rushes in sleep. 

Rushes that keep 

Wrinkling the light of a drowsy star. 

Here in my basket world hung on the wind 

Over me rustles an ebony bough, 

Over me hovers a silvery beak ; 

And clear and soft 

And near and far 

Lustre of loving eyes rocked in this nest, 

Eyes that arc gentle, 

Eyes that are meek. 

O, Mother Bird, fledge me with feather and rest! 

O, Mother Bird, brood me with flame of your breast ! 



[59] 



LITTLE MISS HILLY 

Oh, little Miss Hilly of Northampton-town 
Goes walking the valleys and meadows adown; 
She looks in the brooks for the stars and the moon 
And she sings an old chanty a bit out of tune. 
Oh, little Miss Hilly is dear unto me, — 
Is dear unto me ! 

Her arms are so eager but tiny are they, 
And her fingers are agile as waters at play. 
Yet little Miss Hilly must climb a steep slope, 
Must go without laughter and live without hope : 
Must chatter and patter hke leaves and like rain. 
Must shiver and quiver and ache with the pain 
Of climbing for stars and wanting the moon 
As she puts an old chanty once more into tune, 
Ere the stars will come down or the moon will reply 
Except by a wink through a chink in the sky 
Oh, little Miss Hilly so dear unto me. 
So dear unto me! 



[60] 



ROSE TOADA 

A Sleep Song 



Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo! 
Jewelled red eyes for you. 
Shoo, Rose Toada, Shoo! 

II 

Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh ! 
Little green snake in the bush. 
Hoosh, Rose Toada, hoosh! 

Ill 

Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz ! 
Gold on its wings and fuzz. 
Bizz, Rose Toada, buzz ! 



(6i 



THATCH 

Oh Boy, give me your yellow thatch for home, 
Your yellow thatch of hair. 
Straw with the wind and air! 

Oh Boy, give me your stubble cheek to roam. 
Brown hayfield in the dew, — 
Rusty with sun and you ! 



[62: 



SUN-PATH 

I 

How should I touch your years with mine, 

Yours flushed with dawn, a flight 

For all ecstacy of light, of rose, of flame. 

Mine shadowed even now by night ! 

Yet, child, blown by the dawn-wind of your name, 

Tossed by the sunlight in your eyes. 

Sped by the glow upon your lips, you came, 

Seeking my shadow and my rest. 

II 
Tell me what made you run to me ? 
Was it the long, unsheltered way from dawn to dusk, 
The hot, unclouded, copper day of truth. 
Was it some legend of men's tears and strife. 
Some tale of cowards prospering in the sun, 
Some sin red-flung across the liHes that men love? 
Or terror which the old forget, fears 
Following as you fled, some shame 
Of fact too awful for your youth to bear? 

Ill 
Back to your sun-path now you run 
And on with wing of bird and flight of sun. 
Your youth upon its golden way 
Forgets it ever asked for rest, 
Forgets my desolated day. 
To me you left your tears, 
Your fears a-tremble, 
And hunger in mine eyes for you. 
And I ? I leave you free. 

[63] 



RAVELLO 

A Recollection of the Garden in which Wagner 
composed "ParzivaV^ 
Words glimmering like candles in the dusk 
You tell your golden tale of Italy, — 
Ravello and its starlit, tranquil sea 
Among massed trees sleep-hung with jewelled fruit; 
Antiquity against a shadowed sky. 
And everywhere old gardens where men loved 
So long ago, and the moon rose on vows 
And thirsty human lips aching to meet; 
And the moon set on darkling ivory-petalled rows 
Of lilies and on hands dim with loneliness : — 
Below, Amalfi's campanile plays 
Its even-song, full chant and antiphon, 
A wish, a hope, a call from star to star. 

O, Compassionate One, night-long with you I hark 
The travelling of that music lost in space, 
The echoing of those faithful feet of men. 
And touch the blurred chalcedony of tears. 
And breathe those candle-lighted thoughts, faint musk 
Of old days vanished in silence now ! 
Night-long I dream your face pressed close to mine 
Is lily of Ravello in its sleep. 

Touched with some ancient sorrow gardens keep, — 
An ivory-petalled dream whose ghostly passions shine 
Like fingers in the dark struggling with fears : — 
O, set your love for me, my Own, my Sweet, 
The whiteness of your breast and brow aglow 
With God, like candleshine before my feet! 

[64] 



CHESTER-ON-THE DEE 

Sleep, little town, your moonlit walls 
Are hushed with long-ago! 
Night, like your river, brings to you 
Forget fulness of woe. 

Peace, little town ! Grave sleep is this 
That aches in love and tears, 
With singing stream, with shining dream, 
With sense of other years. 



[6s] 



THE RIVER SEIONT 

At Carnarvon in North Wales 

Where the salt sea winds her sleeping path 

Up the River Seiont in summer time, 

And daisies flush the aftermath 

Of stubble corn; and heavy cows 

Wait by the water's edge, 

While cloud-capped Snowdon hills grow dim, 

And fading Anglesey a crystal rim, — 

Then 

Your spirit comes, 

A tidal sea. 

Winding, 

Up the River Seiont, 

Past the purple hill; 

Winding, 

Past the Castle wall, 

Winding ; — 

Then 

Your spirit comes. 

Winding, 

Up the River Seiont 

To me. 



[66] 



GOLD AND IVORY 

They lie beside me all the night, 

They crowd up close to me; 

And when I turn, they turn; 

And when I sigh, they cry. 

Says one: *T am the love you sought 

Now wrinkled to an afterthought." 

The other wiiispers in my ear: 

"You coveted: 

Behold, I lie here dead!" 

These are the gifts sleep brings to me,- 

My dreams of gold and ivory! 



I67] 



STEPS 



There is a stair to climb 
That — Christ you keep ! — 
Men stumble there 
It is so steep. 

II 

Its steps give scarce foothold, 
Yet, pilgrim-shod, 
Hungry, athirst, 
Men climb to God. 



[68] 



BESIDE THE WAY 



O, little wind of every day, 
O, little wind of hope, 

Bring to me love 

Beside the way, 
O, little wind of every day! 

11 

There's vexin.c: work for scanty keep. 
With tears for daily drink, 

And but this cup 

To bring me sleep. 
This cup of golden love dream-deep. 

Ill 

O, little wind of every day, 
O, little wind of hope. 

Bring to me love 

Beside the way, 
O, little wind of every day ! 



[69] 



WAIT AWHILE 



If yoti would know my mother-heart, 
Then wait awhile, be still; 
Watch for the settling dusky light, 
The silence, on the hill; 
And wait awhile, be still. 

II 

Love, heed the clap of little hands. 

Of leaves upon my trees ; 

And hear the travelling of the wind. 

The moving of the seas; 

Then wait awhile, be still. 

Ill 

If you would know my mother-heart, 

But watch the wasting day ! 

The wind steps softly in the corn. 

The light sHps to the hill; 

Love, wait awhile, be still. 



[70] 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Blossoms shaken from their star forms 

Back to earth, 

Flying seedlings warm and waiting 

Drift in sunlight with the going 

Of the birds towards the south! 

Birds are going! 
They will sing before they go, 
Fill the orchard with their mirth: 
Song of harvest, song of summer, song of spring- 
time, — 
They remember it was April long ago ! 

We are parting. 

You are going towards the south ! 
Love was birth. 
Is this dying, — 

Death my harvest, grief my summer, tears my spring- 
time? . . . 
Well, kiss me kindly, 
Song is warmest on the mouth ! 
Give me love before you go ! 



[71 



A THOUSAND YEARS 

A thousand years from now 
No one will know that you and I 
Lifted our arms to touch the sky 
And clasped an empty vow, — 

No one will know, 

We loved so long ago ! 

A thousand years from now 
We shall not hear the cry of hope 
Linger, remember, echo, grope, 
While mornings glow 
And evenings come and go ! 

A thousand years from now 
No one will know that we have slept 
Breast to each other's breast and wept,- 

No one will know 

We loved so long ago! 

A thousand years from now 
We shall not see love welcome death, 
Dreams harden into frosted breath, 
Spring burn the apple bough 
While mornings glow 
And evenings come and go! 



[72] 



THE BROKEN DOOR 

This is the place ! I know 

The broken door, the ragged bed of bloom 

Where poppies grow, 

Row after row. 

This is the place. 
A year ago, her footprint 
Marked the garden path 
With tender hollow. 

But now? 

Time's step is slow to follow. 



ONLY YOUR NAME 

Sometimes I wake from sleep 

Only your name drawing across my lips 

In creeping wind from unlit space, 

No star sparks flickering on that wind, 

No signal tree top touched with racing light. 

No lantern-memory hung to show the way; 

Only a pathless name. 

Dark, terrible, meaningless because most near! 

And yet I never knew you, — 

Only your name and pain! 



[74] 



REPETENDS 

In the still woods I find your eyes, 
I hear your voice once more 
And the far-singing hermit thrush 
Beyond our northern door. 

In the still woods pale repetends 
I find of death and grief 
In fallen nest and perished bee 
And sepulchre of leaf. 



[75] 



TOO LATE 



It is too long, too long! 

My heart grows old with grieving 

For the touch of you. 

It is too far, too far! 

My eyes are dazed 

With searching emptiness, — 

The dark, the blurred horizon 

With its dust of other feet. 



It is too late, too late! 

Gray thoughts stalk round me 

With their death. 

I strike my tent, 

I go. 

Not even dreams can bring you now, 

Too long, too far, too late ! 



[76] 



THE TIDE 

I shall find you when the tide comes in,- 

A shell, a sound, a flash of light 

To live with me by day. 

To dream with me by night. 

You come and go 
As waters flow ; 
You lap me round 
You pour me full ; 
A shell at rest 
You touch my breast. 
I feel your will, 
And 1 am bound 
By light, by sound; 
To love you still. 

I shall find you when the tide comes in,- 

A shell, a sound, a flash of light. 

Men say you died. 

They knew not what to say, — 

I hear the tide, 

I hear the tide! 



[77] 



DUST AND DREAMS 

At peace with every sweet remembered thing 
You He; with woodland song that died long years 
Ago; with pebbles washed ashore and fears 
Released and feathers broken from the wing 
That beat its westward flight towards the sun 
And some far nest beside some unknown sea : 
I would not answer when you called to me, 
And now my thought of you is never done. 

This starlit road with its dark towering pines, 
Its dust of misty pollen blown in cloud 
From field to field, its silences, its shroud 
Of clinging dark and all its trailing vines 
White with moonshine and the priestly dew, 
We shared. Tonight I travel it alone, — 
Alone I go towards that glistening stone 
Which marks your rest, my thought a prayer for you. 

Singing the water rushes past your quiet grave 
Beneath this little town whose ancient name 
Suggests the fair collegiate dream and fame 
Of Oxford and her clustered towers. With wave 
The river winds a garland for your rest — 
The woven sound of grieving without end. 
To you I bring the memory of a friend 
And lay these words on your remembered breast. 



176] 



THE NEST 

I 
Oh, is there room at your feet, dear one? 

And is there room at your side? 
And can you hear the sound of my breath 

And sorrow that cries Hke a tide? 

II 
Oh, may I take your hand, dear one, 

As the nest enfolds the bird. 
Lie close to your heart and breast to breast 

And never a spoken word? 

Ill 
What then if the stars be gone, dear one, 

What then if the wind be still, 
And words that we spoke long years ago 

Drift pale and faint and chill? 

IV 

Our dust shall be warmed by the sun, dear one, 
Our grief shall fade with the snow ; 

And mingled in spring by sun and rain 
Our love to a flower blow. 

V 

Oh, is there room at your feet, dear one? 

And is there room at your side? 
And can you hear the sound of my breath 

And sorrow that cries like a tide? 

[79] 



LOST LOVE 

You have her mouth of grief, — 

Your parted hps half-shape a moan; 

You have her brow branded with memory ; 

You have her downcast eyes 

Brooding hke doves above the body's need ; 

You have her heart of love 

Where music flows 

And sorrows nurse. 

O Voice of all lost love and agony, 

Cecilia, Saint, 

We beg the healing of your breast. 

Music at our lips 

And sleep ! 



[80] 



'WHEN SPRING" 



A BALLAD OF LOVE 



I 

When spring was in her heart beat, 
Her lover came from sea; 

She gave him passion's Hly cup, 
He gave her thistles three. 

II 
When spring was in her heart beat, 

He filled their lily cup 
With bitter dew and star dust 

And frozen spray to sup. 

Ill 
When spring was in her heart beat, 

He snared the only star 
Still racing on her dream path : 

Now other thistles are! 

IV 

He said a little tinsel 

Would serve her last journec, 
And nailed a glittering handful 

Upon a willow tree. 

V 

Now death drags at her heart beat 
She sees gray branches weep; 

They drip but ashen starlight, 
Singing, "Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!" 
[8i] 



TWO CANDLES 

TO MY MOTHER AT FLEUR DE LYS 



Two candles place I at her feet. 
Two candles at her head; 

These are the gifts that I would bring 
To my Beloved Dead. 



II 

I sought the violet of her eyes, 
Her eyes were closed in sleep; 

My love was trembling like a child 
And could not even weep. 



Ill 

I clad her in a purple shroud, 
Some said it should be white; 

I said, "The passion of her eyes 
Found peace in candlelight!" 



IV 

Sometimes I see her ash-gold hair 
Shimmer within the night; 

Sometimes I feel her violet eyes 
Searching for candlelight. 

[82] 



Sometimes I hear her drifting feet 
That seek from door to door, 

Guided by star and blowing wind, 
Dream-shod forevermore. 



VI 

When will she come again to me 
Led by the wind and star? 

She need not even call my name, 
I could not wander far. 



vn 

Two candles place I at her feet, 
Two candles at her head : 

Remembrance and Oblivion 
Enfold my lonely dead. 



[83] 



ROSY MILLER 

I do not ever remember having seen Rosy Miller; 

I never met her; 

Yet lose her I never can. 

One night at dusk she came down a hill with me, 

And the stars glowed 

And all the college buildings were laced with window 

lights, 
And beyond them were the dark hills. 

It was the speech of a friend that made her live for 

me — 
She was living then — , 
Rosy Miller, who gave and gave. 
Who, a child still, had learned the whole meaning of 

Ufe, 
Who asked nothing, 
Who never held a hand out mendicant to others. 

That was three years ago, that hour at dusk, 

And now they say she is dead. 

But that is a mistake: 

Even for me who never knew her she still lives. 



[84] 



HIS NAME 

He loved men with a great soul's deepest love ; 
He sav^r in them truth, hope, the very flame 
Of constancy. And then alone 
He died. Men have forgot his name. 



[85] 



MIST 

I 

I climb them step by step, — 

The vanished years. 

StumbHng I pause to look below, 

Down wells of time, so black, so deep 

Their waters keep 

No sound. 

Nor show a star. 

Nor hold a memory. 

II 
Sometimes I kneel and look above 
That dark stairway 
At years to come; 
My fingers clasp my fears, 
Where my hopes go. 
Up there, beyond that last, gray step. 
Afar, 

Within that roof of mist, 
What is that shape in flight 
Dim, strong and slow? 

Ill 

"A wing," some say; 

Some answer, "Love"; 

And some say, "Night 

And Sleep." 

But I? 

I do not know. 

[86] 



LAST DAWN 

When that last dawn comes, what will it be? — 

A plume of fire on a cloud of gray; 

A shrouded ship in a cocoon sea; 

A mountain peak with its one gold star; 

A bird's nest swung by a silver wind; 

Or the curve of an arm with its cradled child? 

What will that last dawn be ? 

And God, what will God be? 

The plume of fire or tlie mist-spun ship, 

The mountain peak with its signal star. 

The nest blown wide for the coming day, 

Or the child in the human passionate arms? . . . 

I wonder what God will be 

And who shall see! 



I87] 



EVEN AS HERE 

This is the end to which I come, — 
I who have loved beauty all my days : 
This grief of tortured flowers, 
This prison box devised by men, 
These nails and hasps and graven plates, 
This narrow room, these curious eyes. 
This tolling bell, 

These mumbled words miscalled of God, 
This brutal stone! 



O, rather. Love, 

Lay me on sweet-burning cedar. 

Free, fragrant with beaded pitch where the clean axe 

cut, 
With flame that leaps from singing heart of wood to 

mine! 
Then cast me as ash upon the quilted colors of the 

autumn hills. 
And I shall be pale lace of wind 
To kiss your lips, your eyes once more! 



Or strew me on water 

Till I know again its slipping hands of dream. 
And see its golden deep of sand shadowed with mem- 
ories, 
And feel its cradling touch soft as your moving breast 
In closeness beyond the reach of words! 
[88] 



Or toss me as a feather 

To some little shepherd moon and flock of stars 

Where, in the slow-rolling of prodigious hours 

Round the blown crust of other worlds, 

Space beyond space, 

I shall find you, — even as here ! 



[89] 



AGAIN? 

To my Home on Lake Champlain 

Shall I come again? 
Again to see the reeds, 
Yellowing now? 

''Bye and bye! 
Bye and bye!" 
Lake rushes cry. 

Shall I come again 
To these willow leaves 
Falling now? 

Their joy was brief! 
The willow leaf 
Knows grief. 

Shall I breathe again 
Gray balsam dripping amber 
On the mould? 

What knows the year 
Of any fear, — 
Of any amber tear! 

September 2y, 1^20. 

[90] 



■i 



